Andre waited for Rayne to appear for the noon meal. When she finally arrived in the hall, a gasp filled the room. He found his intended looking more like a wild animal than a lady. Her blonde hair was like a bird's nest about her lovely head, and he could see the dried manure still on her skirt. This was going to be a tough ride. William Rufus had assured him she would be an ideal wife, so he had no idea what was going on with her. Rayne was playing a game with him, a game he did not yet understand.
Anyone could see she was beautiful. No amount of dirt could hide that. He had no problem allowing her to play her game, but this was not the time. His promise to William the Conqueror on his deathbed was important to him. It was his duty as a knight to support the current king no matter what happened, and this marriage offered the security he sought for the boys. He would do anything for those boys, including learning to be more tolerant. If he'd had patience with his first wife, things might be different for those children. It was apparent he would need a lot of patience with this woman.
Slowly and deliberately, she moved through the hall toward him. She held her chin up, but he was no fool. It was apparent she was scared, but of what he did not know. He was a stranger to her, but he had done nothing to indicate she should fear him. The vulnerability underneath her bluster was obvious. Rayne was trying hard to appear to be something she was not, and he wanted to know why. Before the mystery could be solved, he had to get her presentable.
He waited. She stopped near him with her head down. "Where shall I sit, milord?"
The smell overwhelmed him. No one within twenty paces would be able to eat unless she washed. Thankfully, the boys would not be joining them. He didn't want to present her to them until she was in a state that would not frighten the wits out of them.
"Lady Rayne. I must insist you wash. Now."
She gulped as she met his gaze but said nothing. He could see her fingers shaking. Tillie stood back, her eyes wide and fixed on him. At least she had the good sense to fear him.
The hall was deathly silent, and the eyes of his people were on him. His seneschal stood in the corner and chuckled. As Andre stared her down, a murmur spread throughout the room. She was making fun of him right in front of all those who served him. He took a few steps toward her and picked her up. Andre swung around and carried her through the hall out into the bailey. He had vowed patience, but he was still lord here, and she must know this was unacceptable.
She struggled, but he held firm. His arms were as rigid as tree trunks, his hold unbreakable. He held her close and slowed his breath until they hit the fresh air outdoors.
"Where are we going, milord?" she said. Panic crossed her face as he marched down past the inner wall and toward the drawbridge.
"I think this has gone on long enough," he said as he watched the woman in his arms as she strained to break free. "'Tis high time you bathed."
"But I…"
"Open the gate!" he yelled. His men scurried to obey. The metal gate rose, and the drawbridge lowered as he hurried his pace with her still in his arms. He crossed the bridge and stood before the moat.
Rayne squealed as she glanced down at the stagnant, dark water beneath her.
"Did you think I meant to be rid of you?" he laughed.
"Milord," she said as she started to tremble in his arms. "I wish to be left to myself, 'tis all."
"You should be more careful, Lady Rayne. Most men would not be so understanding. I do not know the game you play, but I do not wish to play it. If you will not clean yourself, I shall help you in that endeavor."
With those words, he gripped her tightly and jumped into the moat, taking her with him.
****
Rayne sputtered as she emerged head first from the foul-smelling water. Shaking and bemused, she realized she had gone too far. She had crossed him, and she had paid for it. They had hit the water together, but she kicked away from him as soon as she could take in air. What would he have done had she not been able to swim? She bobbed beneath the water and then swam toward the edge, refusing to make eye contact with him.
He chuckled and climbed out with ease. His dark hair was plastered across his forehead, his clothes were wet and dripping onto the dirt beneath his boots. She stayed where she was, unable to move or think for a moment, her tiptoes touching a rock beneath her feet. Slowly, she made her way through the murky water toward the side so she too could climb out.
The moat was wide, so it took her a bit to reach the edge. Her sopping wet kirtle twisted between her legs as she went, slowing her down. She was already tired when she started to climb upward. No matter how hard she tried, she could not hoist herself. Andre watched with his arms crossed over his chest. Rivulets of foul smelling water ran over her face, and bile rose into her throat.
Admittedly, she had gone too far, but she refused to accept defeat. She struggled to climb out, but her foot could find nothing solid. The stones lining the moat were slippery, and she was too shocked to ask for help. In her mind, she pictured him putting his foot on her head to push her back in. Claude would have, yet this was not Claude. Confusion clouded her thoughts.
Finally, unable to fight any longer, she relented and sought help. "Milord, please!"
Andre uncrossed his arms and knelt down, putting a hand out to her. She did not know what else to do but accept it. He pulled her from the water as if she weighed nothing and helped her right herself on the edge of the moat.
She could not be sure, but she thought she saw a smile appear on his face that vanished quickly. "Does the lady feel better now?" he asked.
"Nay! I do not." She tried to walk away from him, but he stopped her. Her wet kirtle clung awkwardly to her legs. Water dripped down her back, tickling her skin.
"A warm bath will be delivered to your room along with your dinner. I suggest you bathe and then eat. No more of this nonsense. Be ready and presentable at supper. You have left quite an impression on those who live here. Do your best to rectify that."
She had no retort as he stalked away, leaving her alone. She stood were she was, flustered and afraid, as a soldier moved in to usher her back through the gate. It had been less than a day and already he appeared unflappable. How would she ever get him to send her home? He seemed to tolerate her stink so long as he was not embarrassed. Perhaps that was the key. She would bathe, but that would not stop her from trying something new. What would he do if she embarrassed him at every turn? Would that be enough to urge him to send her away?